Sedulous
by NellietheMarvelous
Summary: Caskett. "She held him just as snugly. Cheek against his when he whispered "thank you". She didn't have to ask what for, she knew and just squeezed him tighter."


**Disclaimer: Nope.**

**A/N: This idea just would not leave me alone. So I typed it out on my phone. I guess you could set this anywhere in the future of Caskett. I didn't specify. It's not 'technically' set after 6x23 but if that's the way you picture it then I'm more than okay with that. I left it open to interpretation. **

**Sav & Ris are basically becoming my guinea pigs. (Very adorable guinea pigs) I sent this to them earlier today and the responses were quite amusing so I decided to post it. Hope you guys love it just as much as they did. **

It was late. It always was. He wouldn't let her see, but she did anyway. She watched him suffer each day and it ripped at her chest, clawed it open to leave her heart exposed, raw to the the pain he felt. He still did this to himself, still tried and always wound up frustrated. He beat himself up when she wasn't around. She wasn't Beckett here, she wasn't a detective, she didn't have the answers. She was just Kate. Clueless Kate. But as soon as she'd woke alone and cold, she knew where to find him. She knew he didn't need to be alone. It was only solidified in her mind when she watched from the doorway of his office as he threw his headset at the wall.

It must've been glitching. Again. He hated it. Hated that he had to speak the words and let an automated program spell them out. And she hated it too. So many things she wished had gone differently. But the hardest thing to accept was that she'd been too late. She should have found him sooner and they wouldn't be here.

After months of healing and physical therapy, of letdowns and triumphs, he still couldn't do much more than peck at the keys. The damage in his hands had been too severe. The crushed bones, severed nerves, she could still see it when she looked at them sometimes. Instead of scars and bumps of calcified bone, she saw blood. The way they'd been so limp and swollen, smashed to pieces. He'd been tortured while she'd been rushing around to find him. And she hadn't been fast enough.

He walked with a limp now. A cane had been recommended but he hadn't wanted it and she'd stopped pushing after they'd fought for three days. She let it go simply because she didn't want to fight with him, she didn't want to let him push her away. She was still here. Months later, she was still in their loft, still wearing his ring on her finger. It hadn't beat them. They'd handled worse.

And she didn't care. If he never wrote another page in his life, she wouldn't care. Because it wasn't about that. He wasn't just a writer. He was everything. He was her partner, her heart, her husband. He was hers. He was an amazing man with a big heart and more love for her than she knew what to do with. But he was upset, felt stripped, thought he wasn't as good now and that was why she didn't sleep. If he wasn't sleeping then neither was she. Because he needed her whether he wanted to admit it or not.

He was staring at the keyboard of his laptop, just staring and she thought back to the nights he'd spent in his office. He wasn't usually one to be upset, but he had his moments. He'd fought through, had surgeries to repair damage and every time, he'd come out smiling at her. Asking her if she was okay. He'd held her one night, after the bandages had been removed for good, just held her and told her they'd be okay. That he was alive and that was enough.

It was so much more than enough. They both knew that. But she still found him like this some nights. When he missed the feel of creating the words with his own hands. She never made the mistake of bringing up retiring from his writing career. She knew that wasn't the answer. Not for him.

But after three months of using a top of line program, he wasn't satisfied. And she couldn't keep watching from the sidelines. She took a step. For both their sakes. She kept walking until she was at his side. He didn't look up at her, his eyes were dark, still on the keyboard. His pajamas were wrinkled and he looked as though he hadn't slept in days, or shaved for that matter. She pushed until the chair rolled, she made him pay attention. This was important.

And when she crawled in his lap, and pressed her mouth to his, she felt him sigh, felt the press of a couple fingers against her hip. She didn't say anything. Just kept her lips soothing over his in soft caresses. And when he looked like he was about to ask why she was awake, she shook her head.

She would show him. Even if it wasn't the same, she wanted to help.

He groaned in her ear when she turned in his lap. The twist of her hips doing more than she intended. Later. She'd explore the heat in her belly and the way he pressed up into her but first she had a plan. She let her back rest against his chest, pulled them both closer to the computer by grabbing the edge of the desk. He chuckled and she squeaked when the chair rocked.

She knew by the stroke of his thumb against her stomach that he was open to whatever she was trying to do. She just hoped it would work. He sucked in a deep breath, she felt every second of it when she let her fingers find the home keys. They were cool to the touch. Hadn't been used much lately. Even when he pecked at them, he just eventually gave up after a few hours and hardly any words.

"Put your hands on mine, Castle." She whispered it, not sure if it was the right thing to do and the way he hesitated made her second guess herself, almost take it back. "So you can feel."

But he couldn't feel. Some of his fingers had lost all sense of touch, he couldn't feel things. Some were locked in place, like his pinky. The one that rested warm and heavy over hers when he finally slid his palms over the backs of her hands.

But he'd pushed himself until he could use his hands as well as anyone with full function. And he still touched her as though he never wanted to stop. It was just typing that eluded him. But now she had an idea.

"Tell me what to type." She would be his hands.

She felt the press of his mouth against her ear, her neck, another kiss to her shoulder.

"Kate,"

"Use me as your hands, tell me what to write. Let me help." She would type, would move her fingers beneath his and even though it wasn't the same, maybe it would ease his frustration.

He didn't say anything. Not a word. He breathed against her skin, hot puffs of moist air. His thumb stroked hers, he still had feeling and full range of motion in that one. They sat in silence. With his hands over hers. A cursor blinking back at them. His unshaven jaw scraped over her neck and she turned towards it, let her cheek slide against his nose until she could kiss him. The angle was awkward, but she didn't care. And when he pulled back, she found his gaze and said it again.

"Let me type for you."

"Okay." He smiled, nudged her and pressed his mouth to her cheek. "You're extraordinary."

She wasn't the only one. But she kept that to herself for the moment. It would keep till later.

And finally, his voice was steady next to her ear. A low rumble that had her relaxing heavily against him. She wrote the words as he spoke them, backspaced when asked. Stuck a few of her own little ideas in and helped him brainstorm through sentences he didn't think sounded quite right. And though his hands barely moved with hers, the frustration evaporated.

* * *

She spent hours clacking at the keys, letting his words ghost by her ear and straight out her fingertips. And he'd never moved his hands from hers. Not even when she yawned and tried to cover her mouth. No. That was when he'd pressed his face against her neck and told her it was time for bed. She wholeheartedly agreed.

He followed closely when she led the way to their bedroom. Didn't really have a choice when she was sleepily tugging him along by the fabric of his pajama pants. She didn't care that he swayed with a limp, didn't care that he was too stubborn to accept the help of a cane.

He stumbled into her, his chest hitting her back, her soft laugh filling the air. It drifted around them, between them when she turned to face him. Dying to the silence when she grabbed his face, pulled his lips down to hers.

A slow kiss, her mouth parting with his. An exploration she'd already mapped, one she enjoyed. She knew every inch of his mouth. Every slope and line on his face, each and every freckle and scar on his skin. Even the newest ones.

He groaned her name when she bit at his bottom lip, soothed the sting with a swipe of her tongue. But he caught on. His hands tugged her shirt up and over when she pulled back. She remembered the first time he'd tried to undress her after his hands had been crushed. The way he'd fumbled. She'd helped.

She didn't have to anymore. He managed just fine.

They undressed slowly, savored each inch of skin revealed. And when he laid her back on the bed, she reached for one of his hands. The one with the most scarring, the one he had barely any feeling left in. His right. Twined her fingers around his, brought them up to her lips and pressed a kiss to his palm. She held them as he settled over her.

She let her thighs fall open for him, lifted her hips shamelessly to rub against him. There was no need for teasing. And without a word, he understood. He didn't kiss his way down her chest, didn't breath words against her stomach. She didn't clench her legs over his ears when he tasted her. Maybe next time.

But not this one. No. He murmured her name, she sipped it from his mouth as he slid inside her. He was a warm weight over her, a pleasant hum in her blood. A rippling stretch as he pushed in. She shivered around him when he set the slow gentle pace. A rocking that had her mind deliciously blank and his name the only coherent sound she could make.

It was a soft coil in her abdomen, that tightened with each thrust. She clung to him, his hand still in hers and her face pressed into his shoulder. Quiet moans and gasps sheltered between their bodies. A slow burn.

She nipped his chin when her hips chased his. Close enough to be a bit sloppy. Her eyes opened to find his in the soft glow of dawn. She echoed her words from earlier while turning his palm over in her hand.

"Put your hand on mine, Castle." He smiled, a strangled groan when she guided their hands to her breast. She made sure he watched every twist of her fingers as she rolled her nipple between them, moaning when he joined in, squeezed just a little too hard for their pace. Not that she minded.

She didn't. It punched through her, a heavy rush adding to the heat. She was chanting his name, her legs wrapping around him. Sighing when the angle changed, when he slid deeper, filled her with each thrust. She watched the strain on his face, felt the tremble in his arms.

"Let go." He wouldn't. Not yet. "Right behind you, Babe."

And then he did. With his mouth against hers, he fell over the edge. She was almost there and when he pressed her hard into the mattress, she came silently. A gentle break that rolled through each muscle, left her pliant beneath him.

He didn't move, she didn't want him to. She held him in place with her ankles locked and brushed his hair back off his forehead.

He eased down, his arm shaking from holding his weight off her. She welcomed it. She even let go of his fingers so he could slide them under her, hug her tightly. She held him just as snugly. Cheek against his when he whispered "thank you". She didn't have to ask what for, she knew and just squeezed him tighter.

He was still her writer. Her playful partner. The man she adored. He always would be.

"Sleep with me." She was exhausted, slurred words but she knew he'd chuckle against her. She did it on purpose, testing to see if he was okay.

"Just did."

"Hush, Castle. Just sleep." Yeah. He was fine.


End file.
